


Jumper Leads

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Exhibitionist Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horny Dean, Kink, Mild Kink, Nipple Clamps, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Swearing, clitoris clamp, not a pain kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8046430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: A story about how you got started.This is for the We Can Write Better Challenge. by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @mysupernaturalfics.  I chose No.22 - Nipple to Clit Tweezer Clamp set. I actually chose that.





	Jumper Leads

 

  


[Originally posted by demondetoxmanual](https://tmblr.co/Z2gk_x289qp6L)

Two months into working with the Winchesters and Dean had already kissed you.  It was fake, for a job, and it made you… tumultuous, to say the least.  You were checking out a haunted house as an interested buying couple, and he’d kissed you when they came to check on your ~~snooping~~ inspection.  It had been hot, delicious, surprising, with eye-contact and moment-stealing; a kiss better than anything you could’ve planned, and all lies. Lies, lies, lying lies that you put exactly where lying things belonged… where things lie.  Or lay, as it were.  Ahem.  For many months after that.

A year later there’d been another fake-mates opportunity, and you’d actually wrestled circumstances so that it was Dean who mocked marriage with you in the historic mansion.  And for all your it’s-just-a-crush that was a little odd, upon reflection, so you’d dedicated yourself to a good breath out before every idea thereafter.  

What you didn’t estimate was how alluring Dean would find that pause.  You seemed so poised and mature, in _control_ , and you were confused when he puffed his chest and presented as your proud and protective ‘husband’.  He held you and tracked you and gazed at you by his shoulder, and when you were in the pantry - merely a concave sort of cupboard - reaching into the back to investigate a loose panel, he stood behind you as cover.  

You could hear the estate agent coming closer - thanks to the polished, original solid hardwood floors, sourced from Montana - and Dean could see there was no way you were able to go any faster.  He leaned over your form and steeled himself to ask a question, murmuring respectfully “Can I-  May I lift up your skirt?”

You took a breath.  “Yes, you may.”

He billowed the fabric over his hands and placed his palms on the rise of your hips, being careful to not touch your skin.  Leaning against you, with knees suggestively bent, he let his breath fall over your collar - not touching - as he watched your fingers work.

The footsteps changed tone (when they hit the European beech of the kitchen) and Dean _mmph_ ’d strategically - and with surprising authenticity - his lips following the path of his breath at the last minute. Fingers clamping, belt buckle pressed to bone, he’d turned his head, feigning embarrassment, and let the agent bumble his way out of the room before relaxing his stance.

You’d pulled out the medallion and peered at it’s hoodoo-ish style.  He stepped back, well back, and waited for your opinion, which was “I don’t think we can just burn this.”

He put his hands on his hips and watched you for instruction.  

Glancing at the hallway, the agent on a call, you stepped closer to talk, hiding yourself between him and the counter so you could watch the door.  “I think we should take it back to the bunker.  I haven’t see these materials used in one of these before.  It might be something.”

Dean’s gaze followed you, solemn and laser-like.

“He might come back- it’s just… these things work in pairs sometimes.  I don’t think we’re done.”

Dean looked back past his shoulder, listened to the conversation a little to judge his time and stepped forward.  Lifting you onto the benchtop, he watched you pointedly not react as he slipped your skirt up again, only the heat of his hands touching you.  “This okay?” he asked, stepping forward and pulling you flush against him.

His belt pinched at your inner thigh, but his palms were warm and firm on your neck and waist.

The agent’s voice grew louder and you overheard him saying, “Yeah I suspect they’re one of those couples who do inspections just so someone catches them doing it.  You know, _exhibitionists_.”

Dean glared at you a little, unsure of how to deal with that.

“I’m not doing more than two-point-one,” you said loudly.  “Not for that pantry.”

The footsteps shuffled still, then very quietly got much quieter as the agent quietly stepped away.

“S’pose we’d better follow through,” Dean whispered, “just to be safe,” and dragged himself against your groin, blushing at the sound of your bitten gasp.  He kept at it, sliding and rubbing, his lips by your cheek, eyelashes grazing your temple, and he could mark the moment he caught your clitoris.  You’d snatched onto his arms and realised you were already breathing hard, that you weren’t turning back, and opened your mouth to let the little sighs and notes fall softly.  He watched you come and bit his lip, pushing and pulling every breath of his own to keep from coming right there too, and kissed your damp brow for long, needy seconds.

That afternoon, back at the motel, he’d led you to the front desk and asked, “So are we getting a double, or are we kicking Sam out?”

You looked at the receptionist, who seemed to have no idea how important this moment was, and said, “One person’s stuff is easier to move than two.”

Never had Dean completed a transaction so swiftly.

In the room, he collected Sam’s things, walked them the few doors down and placed them politely on the bed.  Sam followed him in with his open laptop on his forearm saying, “Dude… what the hell?”

“Privacy,” Dean told him, and slapped the key on the table.  He waited for Sam to come into the room, stepped into the doorway, nodded “G’night” and closed the door behind him.  It was 4:50pm.

It took another 2 months before any kind of toy or ‘accessory’ was introduced, but you had been going at it so consistently, with regular references to that kink-heavy start, it wasn’t really surprising at all.

The surprises did come, though, with each new toy.  You always thought you’d see the same thing happen, or at least something would be like another in the way it made you feel.  But after a while you learned that every thing that was new, would be different.

Generally Dean would made suggestions, and you’d say yes or no.  Sometimes you’d hint at something you liked or were curious about and he’d take the initiative.  But this time, this weekend, you’d be surprising him from the start; if only he wouldn’t go and be his usual self - that exemplar of how a man could be sexy at every single point - and throw it all to chaos.

Your car has broken down.

“Aw, you need me to come save you?” he stirs down the phone.

“I’d love you to come save me,” you groan.  “I think it’s the starter motor.”

“Shouldn’t be.  I’ll come see.”

Maybe if he’d come upon you in an urban setting it would’ve been different.  However, this time, on a dappled country mile, where he can approach for minutes and look at you leaning against your grill, this time he takes a breath too, before he gets out of the car.

He heads straight for the trunk and pulls out the jumper cables, popping both hoods and hooking up one set to Baby’s battery.  He turns to you, clamps in hand, and holds them before his ribs, and that’s the moment your brain remembers your last purchase.  That moment.  Where the scene is only barely reminiscent of what might be to come and, God willingly, a lot less… brutal.

You swallow hard and he twitches in curiosity.  “Start’er up for me?”

Behind the wheel of your car, once the cables are attached, you turn the key and she rolls over like nothing was ever wrong.  Dean saunters over to your window and leans his forearm on the roof.  “We’ll just give it a few minutes,” he says, and you nod thoughtfully.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” you wonder.

God, this is how rampant your honeymoon period has been, because that’s all it takes.  A second of eye contact, a clenched jaw, and a few bitten lips - the evening’s booked then and there.

“You tell me,” he smirks, then leans into the car to kiss you, smiling when you pull on his collar.  “You got an itch there babe?”

“Yes,” you answer.  “Usually.”

By the end of dinner he’s had enough time to make a few guesses and finds a moment to ask you, “D’you get something new?”

“I did.”

You help tidy up, even eat your dessert, but skip the eye contact, skip the chit chat, and almost skip saying goodnight because your body is already buzzing, jeans somehow too bulky and not quite enough, and you want Dean to yourself as soon as possible.

…

“What’s going on here?” She’s leaning against my desk, a vicious grip on the edge.

She shrugs. “Hey, sorry if I was abrupt before-”

“Sam didn’t notice, I think.” I come into the room and close the door behind me.  She’s been looking sideways at me since we got back, and it stopped being cute after about an hour. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmmm.”  Her smile is tight and hopeful and it makes me smile too.  I brush my fingers down her arm and watch her breathe deep.  “I was thinking of what I’ve bought,” she says.

“Oh yeah?  Anything I can help with?”

“Can you take off your clothes?”

“Wa- Well, gee.  You know I can.” I start unbuttoning my shirt and pull it off my shoulders and wink.  “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Hmm,” she says, that gorgeous happy smile, already rosy, and she works herself a bit, a little sideways twist-rock while her ankles are crossed tight.

I get my jeans down and before I can ask about briefs she reaches out for me with, “Give us a kiss?”

“Yeah, sure baby,” I say, stepping around her legs to come close.  “You okay?”

“Hmmm,” she hums again, apparently short on words today, and runs her hands over me.  “I love how warm you always are, hard and smooth.”

“Aw, thanks… You too,” I say around her lips, “when I get to feel it.”  She smells warm too, a little taste of dessert from before, always a comfort.

“Take my clothes off for me?”

“Sure thing.” She’s wearing a shirt today, which isn’t always great for watching but perfect for this because it’s a little bit at a time, and a white shirt especially, just sets off her colour.  And, top tip; I always go shirt _then_ jeans because no matter what underwear she’s got on - matching, lacy, satin, grundy nanna pants, doesn’t matter - it’s a sweet view.  The lines against the curves, all that hidden skin… and the waiting.  “Keep going?”

“Yeah,” she says, pushing breath out her nose again.  God, she’s wound tight.

I can nuzzle around her hair when I undo her bra like this, watch her eyelashes and lips.  Every time I get to her ear though, every time, I have to remind myself _no teeth_. I’m sure I bite too hard, so I try to just nibble instead while I drag the straps down her arms with my fingertips.

This time, because she’s being so specific, I don’t do the usual kiss-her-all-over-and-feast-on-the-glory thing, like I want.  I pull back and go for her panties.  Plain black ones today, and she looks downright fit.  I trace my finger along the elastic, hip to hip, and she undoes her legs, bowing forward so I can pull them down.  “You seem to have a plan,” I comment.

“Sort of,” she says, tucking her ankle bones together.  “It’s quite new.”

“Is it?”

Another nosey breath, tight lipped. “You have to get me ready.”

Well damn.  “How do you want me to do that?”

“I need your tongue,” she says, tilting her chest at me, “here.”

I lean down and let my tongue and lips be the only thing that touch her, her colours matching mine, and I listen to her suck air through her teeth while I get her nipple to reach for me.  It’s soft and giving, pulling itself tight right between my teeth.

“That the ready you meant?” I stand back and blow on her chest, watching her.  Pushed, heavy breaths, darkened gaze, and taught all over - she’s got some gravity to her like this.  I think she’s a ways ahead.

“It’s under the covers,” she nods to indicate.  When I pull back the blankets there’s a silvery chain lain out, y-shaped, with a ring-locked tweezer clamp at each end.  

Okay. So… there’s this flavour to it, when we try out something new, and it makes me watch her, watch every part.  But she’s never sprung something on me, and this - which is _meant_ to use that tipping point of pain and pleasure, where the nerves are just so _wired_ \- Jesus, long story short; I’m hard as a rock.  And I’m nervous, in the best way.

I collect the two clamps meant for her breasts and let the third hang down.  When I turn back she’s braced again, eyes locked on mine as I come closer, drawing me back.

I take my time getting this right.  They hold on like little vinyl-covered cupped hands and I place them behind the peak of the pebble, pushing the ring up the tweezer so it holds tight, or tight enough at least.  It’s a sight, that’s for sure.  Her breath breaks from her throat and I can tell she’s pacing herself as far as noises go.  She watches me work on the other side and crushes her brow, full lips blowing steady breaths as I go.

“That okay?” I check.

“Hmmm,” she sighs, getting a handle on the feeling.  “Oh god… yeah.”  She looks up at me, flushed and working her thighs together.  I can feel a blush flaring up my neck.  She looks ridiculously hot.  “You… I think you should get ready,” she indicates downwards.

Don’t need telling twice about that. It takes all of 20 seconds to get my briefs off and condom on and I’m back where I was, fingers reaching for her waist.

The lower chain hangs from near her navel, the length having settled in the seam of her thighs, and I can slide it along the chain between her breasts if I want.  Without pulling, I pick up the last clamp and look to see her opinion on that.

Slowly and carefully, she takes her feet from between my ankles, placing her legs either side of mine, a clear invitation to attach the last clamp.  This is why Operation was not just a game.

On my knees, careful as a surgeon, I spread her lips.  They’re already full, her clitoris engorged and practically throbbing in front of me.  With the pincers of the clamp I catch the flesh, slide the ring and look up to check if it’s comfortable.  You’d think I was dismantling a bomb.  “Okay?”

“Ooooohfuck,” she sighs, face scrunched and fingers biting the desktop.  “Jesus fuck, yyyyyyes… Oh god, I’m so sensitive already.”

“How long you been waiting for me?”

“Fuck me,” she pleads. “Please, just- please.”

I stand saying, “You’re gonna pop as soon as I get in there-”

“Yeah probably, c’mon.” She starts scrambling at my waist to pull me in but I figure, if she’s going to go early, maybe she’ll go more than once.  

I let her grab at me, but don’t move forwards.  Instead I cup the side of her neck with my hand and help her lean back a little, stretch her long.  She watches me, starts tugging her lower lip with her teeth and holds onto my arms.  I drag my fingernails up her sternum a few times before spreading my hand wide so I can get my thumb and pinkie to reach both nipples at once.  I brush my fingertips over the buds and she gasps, her legs bumping against mine as she flinches, and her lower lip disappears into her mouth.  I stroke a few times and her nails start to dig into my arm, her inner thighs trembling.

Down I drag my hand, grazing up and down with a knuckle above her belly button.  With a light slow touch, I hook my finger over the upper chain, catching the ring of the lower one too.  She opens her eyes to look at me, daring or hoping.  I loop the metal around my finger, slowly gathering the slack until it’s at the point of moving the clamps, and carefully, gently, I pull, watching her clit tilt and stretch.

Her jaw drops and a desperate ache breaks out of her.  By millimetres I shift the tension, testing the reach and give, watching for where it makes her pray and pant.  

Stepping closer, I nudge her thighs further apart, showing me everything swollen, shiny and red, and apparently that changes how it feels because she whimpers again.  “I wanna see,” I tell her, but she’s hardly listening, hanging from her hold on me and strung to the chains like a puppet.

I line myself up, tucking in there and nudging, ready for the flag fall.  “Just say the word baby.”  I give the slightest, just the teeniest, I swear, just a _slight_ tug of the chain.

“Fuuuck- ahhh! Yes!” she gasps and I figure that’s probably the word.

Easy does it, but after an inch in she’s pulling on my arm, scratching my ribs to get me closer, so I slide home and right there she cries out, sharp and snatching, and I can _feel_ her shudder around me.  Jesus it’s good, ridiculously good, making me cough and groan.  Nothing has gotten her here so fast before, and at this angle I know the next one’s not far around the corner.  

Neither am I, to be honest.  It’s hot as fuck - she’s literally hot as all hell, radiating and freshly wet from coming - and I love being able to look down and see her like this, leaning back, gorgeous and flaring pink, and with the silvery chains too.  It’s a goddamn glory, that’s what.

I’ve eased off on the pull, back to just held, and don’t move until I think she’s calmed enough.  “So beautiful sweetheart… Tell me what you want baby.”

“Oh… Christ.” She groans, putting her hands on the desk behind her to lean and take a moment, breathing and looking at me.  And then just the slightest tilt of her chest, the hint of a dare in her eyes, she fucking knows how to challenge me.

I tug, only enough to move the clamps, “Tell me.”  Okay maybe a bit more than that.  The frown on her, a moaning, pouting thing, is porntastic.

I tug again and repeat, “What do you want?”  Then she starts to pant, and it might be too much right now so I change the hold.  It’s a long chain, which is good - I can even hook it around my thumb by her ear and it’s got some give.

Leaning over means I push against her, and as I kiss her full and hungry on the mouth, the heavy lips of her pussy kiss me too.  She squeaks a little at the pressure.  I pull out and thrust in and her jaw drops - “Ohgod _please!”_

Again I pump into her and her whole body jumps, her clit pinched, exposed and fat with pleasure, and I can feel her starting to wind up again.  I curse, “Sonofabitch,” rest my forehead to hers for a second and decide to go for it.

I get some speed up, racing her even though she’s paces ahead, and her voice just doesn’t stop.  Her head leans back, arms straining as she bends for me and I just take a few beats to wrap my mind around the push and pull inside her, hot and wet and smelling like tomorrow morning’s fingers.  I’m not sure how many octaves she’s got left, but I know this position and what she likes with it.  

The chains are long enough to get in the way, so I hold them in my teeth so I can hook both hands under her knees, angle her how I want and tilt my hips, nudging that spot and on the first thump, she just fucking snaps, loud and desperate, gorgeous, hand slapping onto my neck and throat long.  The light shines off her breasts and chest  - _glistening_ is the word - and I come, staring at her gasping mouth and pleading brow, all of me burning from her.

As soon as I can think straight again, I let her legs down.  She holds onto me with hot hands and I release her nipples, then her clit, and she breathes this shuddering _Oohhhh_ that’s sent right through my cock.  I pull out and gather her up, pressing her to my chest so I can walk us both backward to the bed and straddle her over my lap.  She lets me drape her, all limp and heavy, and brush her damp hair aside, before laying us both back on the blankets.

Maybe we fell asleep, don’t know, doesn’t matter, that was awesome.  Fucking awesome.

At some point she taps my shoulder and sighs, “So… clamps.”

“Mmm,” I puff.  “Yeah, fuckin’… clamps.  That got you goin’.”

“Seems so.  It was… they’re like… jumper cables.”  She giggles a bit in embarrassment.

“Oh, I see.” The breakdown gave her ideas.  Fair enough.  “Well, I’ll make sure I carry a spare set in the car,” I chuckle.

She lifts her head and laces her fingers over my chest, resting her chin there.  “For when we get stranded somewhere,” she smirks. “Get my motor running again.”  

I grin back, thumbing her glowing cheek. “You are just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, brushing her very authentic just-got-well-fucked hair style.

“I’m the luckiest thing you’ve ever seen, sweetheart,” she corrects me and winks. “But it feels like pretty.”

One day I’ll figure out how to kiss her so she believes me.


End file.
